


A Familiar Taste

by callunavulgari



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Detectives, F/M, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-08 15:43:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1134475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callunavulgari/pseuds/callunavulgari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Mmm," he hums, nuzzling into her gun, like this is a game. The look he sends her is so charged, so intense, that her knees shake. “And what do you plan on doing with me now that you’ve caught me, Detective Chase?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Familiar Taste

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr meme: Annabeth/Percy, dark. I thought about just using this ask as my PJO Big Bang, but in the end I just made Percy the serial killer this time around.

"So, Annabeth—may I call you Annabeth?”

Jackson’s lounging against the wall, a smirk on his face, completely at ease despite the circumstances. He seems pleased with himself, Annabeth thinks. The grip she has on her gun doesn’t waver. She isn’t stupid enough to be fooled by his boyish charm. “No,” she responds, shortly.

He shrugs, shifting a bit. “Why did you become a detective, then?” he goes on, as if he hasn’t even heard her.

"That’s really none of your business," she snorts, edging close enough that the muzzle of her gun digs into his chin. He raises an eyebrow.

"I would have figured architect," he says, shrugging again. "Maybe historian. So why did _you_ decide on homicide detective?”

Her palms are sweating. It’s too dark in this room and she has no backup on the way. She’s willing to bet that he knows it too. “So I can put people like _you_ behind bars,” she snarls, her calm evaporating.

He _laughs_ at her—throws his head back and laughs as if its the funniest thing he’s ever heard. When he finally stops laughing long enough to look at her again, his eyes are bright, a dangerous gleam to them that she doesn’t like. She’s met criminals who are attractive before, but this one—he yanks all her strings at once.

"Yes," he purrs, stepping into her—close enough that she has to readjust her grip on her gun, angle it up underneath his chin, because now he’s close enough that their bodies are pressed together. He’s warm, despite all the rumors to the contrary. He’s still smirking. She wonders if that’s the last sight his victims were treated to before he shoved their head under the water. “But I’m willing to bet there’s a story there.”

She sets her jaw and firmly doesn’t think of Luke. That way lies madness.

"And you aren’t going to hear it," she breathes. "Because I’ve caught you now, Percy Jackson."

"Mmm," he hums, _nuzzling_ into her gun, like this is a _game._ The look he sends her is so charged, so intense, that her knees shake. “And what do you plan on doing with me now that you’ve caught me, Detective Chase?”

Her mouth is dry, her hands are shaking, back up isn’t on the way, she wants to kiss a serial killer until his pretty mouth bleeds, and that fucking _smirk_ means that he damn well knows it.

There are three solutions to this problem.

The first: she calls into the station and waits here with a man who has killed seven people in cold blood. The problem with that is that she is very off duty and has no idea where her phone is.

The second: she shoots him and tells her partner it was self defense—it won’t be, he’s not going to hurt her, not tonight anyway.

The third… she knots her hands in that stupid hair of his, tugs him in, and kisses the stupid smirk off his face.

She knows which one she should go with, but the problem with her is that where Percy Jackson’s concerned, logic and reason goes out the window.

She goes with the third option and firmly doesn’t think about how much she’s going to hate herself in the morning.


End file.
